A Very Hetalia Cooking Show!
by crocious
Summary: Welcome to the only textual Hetalia themed dessert cooking show written by me! Let your favorite nations teach you how to make their favorite treats and try not to sit in the splash zone! Suggest, request, ask questions- Just don't tell England, or he'll want in. T for ROMA'S MOUTH! And also for recipes with alcohol.
1. All American Brownies

**Welcome to the tentative pilot episode to Hetalia's newest text based cooking show! This is the part where I try to justify my choices in life by telling myself probably everyone wants to watch all the nations make dessert. Let me believe.**

**Anyway, I'll gauge whether or not to continue based on your response. If you like it, comment. I have a butt ton of recipes I wanna try.**

"Don't you think that's too much butter?" Canada asked, balking at the sheer volume of ingredients on America's counter.

"What? Dude, this recipe makes 24 brownies. It's all good!"

"You're just going to eat them all anyway. You're still putting half a pound of butter in your body."

"Relax," America laughed. "You can have some too!"

Canada sighed and looked into the camera.

"Why is Cro making everyone do this again?"

America patted Canada's shoulder. "Don't question it, bro. It's better than making us do porn."

"Ha! I guess that's true!"

America beamed at the camera. "Hey, everyone! Welcome to the pilot episode of the cool new text-based internet cooking show, _Around the World 80 Desserts!_ Wow, 80? Is Cro serious?"

"It's a working title," Canada explained. "Bet you $20 she's just trying to see how many puns she can come up with."

"What a lame ass! Anyway, I'm your host this week, America! This is my brother, Canadia-"

"Hi."

"And this week we're gonna make an American favorite- chocolate brownies!"

Canada cleared his throat. "The brownie as we know it was first made in 1906 in-"

"No one cares about that!" America laughed. "We're hungry!"

Canada rolled his eyes. "Fine. Go ahead, hoser."

America gestured to a huge pile of ingredients. "We're gonna make a huge batch today. My birthday's coming up, and if you're not celebrating with a ton of people, you're doing it wrong!"

"Like we said," Canada pointed, "we're going to start with half a pound of melted butter, even though that's pretty much suicide if you eat the whole batch yourself."

"Mister Judgy. We also have flour, cocoa, baking powder, salt, eggs and vanilla!"

"And sugar," Canada pointed out.

"And sugar!"

"That's… a LOT of sugar, Al."

"Also walnuts, but you can substitute chocolate chips if you want!"

"Alfred," Canada said. "Are you using more sugar than flour?"

"THE DETAILS ARE UNIMPORTANT!" America shouted.

"This is a cooking show!"

"So pay attention! 1 ¼ cups of flour, 2 cups of sugar. It's genius!"

Canada groaned. "Al, this recipe is gonna kill us."

America laughed and grabbed a mixing bowl. "Mattie already set the oven to 325 degrees-"

"Obviously, that's Fahrenheit, because America is still using the retarded Imperial system everyone else abandoned."

"Hey, you use it too!"

"Only so you can understand me!"

"Assface!"

"Idiot!"

"Anyway," America groaned. "325 degrees Fahrenheit, and let that warm while you prepare everything. You need, like, a rectangle baking pan."

"13 by 9," Canada supplied. "Again, in inches. Stupid."

"Your face is made of ass. A big problem lots of people have with brownies is getting them out of the pan once they're done."

"Americans aren't good at waiting for food to be ready before sticking it in their mouths."

America punched his brother in the shoulder. "ANYWAY, a good way to make sure your brownies don't stick is to line your pan with aluminum foil."

"OR," Canada said, "wax paper, if you're not white trash."

"HEY!"

Canada neatly arranged two sheets of wax paper in the pan, letting it hang over all the edges. "This will also make cleanup way easier."

America winked and nudged Canada. "And knowing this guy-"

"THIS guy!"

"-we need all the clean we can get! So now we're ready to start the batter, right, bro?"

Canada took the electric mixer away from him. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Yes! When?"

"Wash your hands, Alfred."

"But we're _taping_, Matt!"

"I wasn't asking, bro."

America grumbled and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. Canada turned to the camera.

"You can never be too careful with stuff you put in your mouth."

"I'll bet you say that all the time," America snickered.

"Yeah, your mom's pretty forgetful."

"_Zing!_ Good one, Mattie!"

"Yeah, that's what she said last night."

America splashed Canada with water in displeasure. "Too far, dude."

Canada shook the water out of his hair, annoyed. "Are your hands clean yet, goof?"

"As a whistle! Can I make brownies now?"

"Sure."

America picked up the mixing bowl. "You need 3 eggs and 1 ½ teaspoons of vanilla. Put them in the bowl-"

"But _crack_ them, first," Canada interrupted.

America glared at Canada. "Americans aren't that stupid, Matt."

"We'll see. You still can't crack an egg without getting shells in the batter."

"That's just because my manly muscles of manliness are too strong for wussy stuff like cooking. Your arms are like noodles."

Canada reddened. "Yeah, _huge _noodles! Like if _mostaccioli_ could dead lift a hundred kilos!"

America patted his brother's head. "Dude, a hundred pounds really isn't all that much."

"_Kilograms_!"

"Gesundheit. So crack your eggs in the- _darn!_"

Canada rolled his eyes. "If you get eggshells in the batter, you can use a bigger shell to fish it out. Just remember to be careful."

"I'm _always_ careful!"

America fished out the shells and added the vanilla. "This part is fun," he grinned. "Take your electric mixer and beat the eggs and vanilla together until you've got a light, foamy mix."

"Gross."

"Shut it. The best brownies are made with a lot of sound effects, like _Star Wars_."

Canada shook his head. "Al, everyone knows racecar noises make the best brownies. The mixer even sounds like an engine!"

America harrumphed in annoyance and started beating the mix. "This is America week, Mattie! We're doing it the American way! _Pew! Pew! Wubwubwubwub…_"

Canada glared at the mixer. "N_yeeeeeeeeeewwwww, vrum, nnnnnyewwwwwwwww…_"

"Is that foamy?"

Canada looked at the frothy mixture. "Yeah. See? Car sounds make brownies better!"

"What? That was obviously the laser guns, stupid! Laser brownies!"

"If they were laser brownies they'd look like crap!"

"So now that you have your laser brownie base, you can add the sugar!"

"Slowly," Canada emphasized. "Or else it doesn't mix right."

"_Fine,_" America grumbled. "Slowly. Matt's gonna add two cups of sugar while I blend. Ready, Mattie?"

"Ready!"

Slowly, Canada poured sugar into the bowl and America beat it.

"_Vroom, vrooooooooooooom!_" said Canada.

"Doo doo doo, doo _DOO_ doo, doo _DOO_ doo!" sang America.

"_EEEEEEEEEEEEE! Nyeeeeeeeeewwwww!"_

"_Wubwubwubwubwub…_"

The mixing blades stuck in the thick mixture. America boosted the power.

"What are you doing?" Canada cried. "You'll overheat the motor! Stop!"

"Really? Oh, shoot!"

"No, don't take it out, DON'T TAKE IT OUT-!"

America splattered the kitchen with the still-running mixers and yelped in surprise.

Canada glared from behind his batter-splashed glasses. America slowly turned off the mixers and set them on the table, grimacing.

"So," America said cautiously. "Don't take running mixers out of the bowl."

"YA THINK?"

America wiped one of Canada's lenses clean and sucked the mix from his finger. "Eee! That's a lot of sugar!"

"Did you just eat raw egg?"

America ignored him. "So now's the time to add everything else! Your melted butter, your flour, ¾ a teaspoon of baking powder, and ¾ cup of cocoa powder! Make sure to mix slowly so you keep most of it in the bowl!"

Canada elbowed his brother. "Did you just _learn _something?"

"_Nyeh- did you just learn something?_ That's what you sound like. Help me out, this batter is stupid thick."

Canada laughed and spooned the brownie batter around the mixers until they had a thick, creamy chocolate.

Canada held out the salt. "Just half a teaspoon of this stuff and you're done with the batter!"

America took it. "Hey, why do we add salt again? Salt isn't chocolate."

Canada rolled his eyes. "It's your stupid recipe. You tell me."

America shrugged and mixed the salt in. "Probably something about chemicals."

"Hey," Canada said. "I just thought of something I heard Japan say once."

"Yeah? That guy's pretty awesome!"

"Yeah," Canada nodded. "He said that sometimes, if a dish is really sweet, cooks add salt to make it more interesting. The two are so different, but the way the flavors mix, they complement each other perfectly and give it a unique taste."

America shifted uncomfortably. "I'm pretty sure it's just a chemical process, Matt."

"I mean, if you think about it…"

"Please don't let this be a metaphor."

"You're my salt," Canada grinned, wrapping his arms around America.

"Aw, Mattie, no." America groaned and slapped his forehead. "This is a _manly_ cooking show. Our only emotions are hungry and violence. Snap out of the girly crap."

Canada smirked and touched America's face. "Oh, sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Stop it."

"Do you not want everyone at home to see you have _feelings_? You don't want them to know you feel things?"

"Okay, enough."

Canada giggled. "I bet you'd _hate _it if everyone at home knew about that time in Arizona."

"WALNUTS!" America shouted, shaking his little brother off. "Walnuts are next!"

"Ha! You're blushing!"

America ignored him. "You've basically got your delicious laser brownie base already, so you can add anything you want to make it yours! Mattie and I like walnuts, but you can do chocolate, peanut butter, cream cheese, whatever!"

Canada nodded. "Last year for my birthday, he made brownies with bacon bits."

"They were awesome!"

"So awesome!"

"So you're only limited by your imagination here!" America beamed. "Just stir your walnuts or whatever into the batter and pour it into the prepared pan!"

"This is a pretty thick batter," Canada said as America poured. "So once it's all in, you should press it down so it covers the bottom evenly."

America looked fondly at the chocolate mixture. "The next time I see you, you'll be all grown up…"

"You need a moment, Mr Man?"

"Nah, bake the sucker!"

America threw the brownies in the oven and set the timer for 30 minutes.

Canada looked at the camera. "It's a good idea to clean up while you wait for the brownies. You can get it out of the way."

"Yay!" America cheered.

"Al," Canada said, confused. "You seem happy about cleaning."

"Yeah! I call the left mixer blade!"

Canada tried to stop America from putting the chocolatey whisk in his mouth. "That's raw egg! You're gonna get sick!"

"It'f fine," America said through the metal and batter in his mouth. "But if it boverf you, I'll protect you by eating yourf, too."

"No fair! Give it here!"

…22 Minutes Later…

"Al, they aren't ready! Wait!"

America beamed at the camera. "No way! They need to know this about brownies! People, this is one of the only desserts in the world that actively rewards impatience!"

A wave of heat filled the kitchen as America opened the oven and took out the pan of brownies. Canada's protests died in his throat when the smell hit him.

"Mother of God," he murmured.

America grinned. "Check to make sure no part of your brownies is liquid. If they're solid, undercooked brownies can come out. It gives us moist and gooey bars. You can bake until they're dry if you want, but I'm hungry!"

Canada raised his hand. "Can I have some?"

"Of course, bro! Go grab a big plate and some milk!"

Canada brought the supplies and waited.

America gestured to the pan. "One of the problems with gooey laser walnut brownies is getting them out of the pan. Luckily, we lined it with wax paper before we started, so all we have to do is lift them out!"

"_Carefully_," Canada said.

"Carefully," America agreed. "Ready? One, two, three!"

They lifted the edges of the wax paper up and transferred the brownie block to the plate. Canada admired every gooey brown inch as America cut it into clumsy squares.

He picked one up and winced. "Ooh! It's still hot!"

Canada rolled his eyes. "You think?"

"Doesn't matter, moment of truth! Ready, Mattie?"

"Hold on, wait two minutes!"

"No!"

"…_man_…"

Canada grabbed a brownie and clinked their milk together. They each bit half their brownies and-

"AUGH!"

"OH GOD!"

Canada drained his milk and America stuck out his burnt tongue.

"It taftef wike _pain!_"

"Awfwed, you fawkin hoseh, why!"

"Tune in nekft time to fee our favowit Gewman brovers make cookief! I've been Amewica and you've been awesome! Good night evewyone!"

**1 1/2 tsp vanilla **  
** 2 c sugar**  
** 1/2 lb butter, melted and cooled**  
** 1 1/4 c flour **  
** 3/4 tsp baking powder**  
** 3/4 c cocoa powder**  
** 1/2 tsp salt**  
** Like half a cup to a cup of walnuts, white chocolate chips, raspberries etc. You can add literally anything, this recipe is so American! There's a cream cheese variation, but it involves two more steps and I don't have that kind of attention span, lol!**


	2. Prussian Kiss Pfeffernusse

**Balls! I wasn't expecting much response at all! Thank you guys so much! This is a Christmas recipe, so next time I'll do a hot weather dessert. Because summer is hot as balls.**

**Totally make these, though! THE AWESOME PRUSSIA COMMANDS IT!**

"Hey, hey, hey, ladies! Do you know what time it is?"

Germany looked at his watch and at his brother. "It's four in the evening, Gilbert."

Prussia laughed. "Wrong!"

"Wrong? What do you mean wrong? It's clearly-"

"It's time for another awesome episode of _Glutton for Punishment_, your new favorite text based internet cooking show! I am the AWESOME PRUSSIA of course!"

Prussia tried to do an elaborate intro dance, but Germany chopped his head.

"Relax, _Depp_. You're wasting time."

Prussia rubbed his head. "_OW_. Joining me today is my lovely and unnecessarily violent assistant, Germany! Say hi, _Bruder_!"

Germany nodded slightly to the camera, still managing to look like a badass despite wearing a twin blue apron to Prussia's.

"West is gonna help me out today," Prussia said. "Even though I totally don't need him."

Germany looked sternly at his brother. "When you moved in, I remember _explicitly _saying you aren't allowed to use my kitchen without adult supervision."

"Francis offered to help!"

"And I explained with charts and graphs why France is not allowed in my kitchen."

"Spain won't come near any oven I've ever touched _even just once_, so West is stepping in. Even though he totally has no sense of humor. Wanna see him react to a joke?"

Prussia put on a cheesy smile and Germany groaned.

"Hey, West!" Prussia grinned.

"Please stop."

"What did the clock do when it was hungry after dessert?"

"..."

"It went back _four seconds!_ HAHAHAHA!"

Germany looked helplessly at Prussia as he pounded the counter in laughter.

"Why are you like this?" Germany pleaded.

"ALRIGHT!" Prussia shouted abruptly. "Today we're gonna make a very special German cookie! Now, I realize Pfeffernusse is usually for Christmas time and it's clearly too much summer to pretend, but maybe you're reading this in the future and it's the perfect time for Christmas cookies!"

"Besides," Germany said. "Crocious insisted. 'Prussian Kiss Pfeffernusse' is the only cookie she's ever made that didn't taste like potato, and she's oddly proud of that."

"For you Americans stats say make up the bulk of my-"

"Our."

"My fans, that's pronounced 'FEF*er*noose*uh. LET'S BEGIN!"

Germany gestured to the counter of ingredients. "We'll use the American system. Your wet ingredients are ½ cup of molasses, ¼ cup of honey, ¼ cup of shortening, ¼ cup of butter or margarine and two eggs."

"You also have dry ingredients!" Prussia said happily. "Four whole cups of flour, ¾ cup of white sugar and ½ cup of brown sugar! Also, put a cup of powdered sugar to the side. There's also a butt-ton of awesome seasonings, but when you're as awesome as me you don't need to measure!"

"Measure your spices, stupid."

"_What?_ West, this is PRUSSIA week, not lame ass week! We do it my way!"

Germany poked Prussia in the forehead "_Your _way made Italy throw up last Christmas! Measure the damn spices!"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "FINE. I'll measure, you start cooking."

Germany brandished a saucepan. "As it happens, these are for more than just hitting idiots in the head."

"That's not a joke, kiddo."

"IT IS A JOKE! You're going to put all your wet ingredients except the eggs in a medium sized saucepan and cook them over medium heat. Stir constantly until you have a creamy mixture. I'll start this process while Gilbert works out the spices."

Prussia held out a bowl. "I've already put the flour and white and brown sugar in here. Stick close to me this first time, but if you get awesome at it, feel free to play by ear! Add one teaspoon of nutmeg, a teaspoon of ground cloves, half a teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of ginger, 1 ½ teaspoon of cardamom, two teaspoons of cinnamon, 1 ½ teaspoons of baking… West, baking powder or soda? I always mix them up."

"Which is why I don't let you cook," Germany said. "Baking soda. And hand me the anise extract, we forgot to add it."

Prussia looked at the counter. "…anise extract?"

Germany looked at him dangerously. "The two teaspoons of licorice flavoring that give the cookies the perfect taste? _Tell_ me you didn't forget it."

"It was expensive!" Prussia defended. "We can substitute!"

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose. "Vanilla is… not ideal. But it will serve."

Prussia's eyes widened suddenly. "No… WEST! I know what we can use!"

"Gilbert, 'awesomeness' is not an ingredient. I'm sick of telling you this."

"It SO is," Prussia exclaimed, pulling a green bottle from the cupboard. "And it tastes like anise!"

Germany looked at the bottle in horror. "_Nee!_ Gilbert, you can't use _Jagermeister_ in the Pfeffernusse! Some of these readers are underage!"

"Psh!" Prussia said, tipping the bottle over the saucepan. "Four teaspoons isn't even enough to get Japan drunk."

"Two!"

"Six. Besides, this is _Prussian Kiss _Pfeffernusse. Kesesesese! I _totally _taste like Jager! Ask Fel-"

Germany clocked his brother in the jaw.

"AUGH!" Prussia shouted. "I was _teasing_, you freaking _Archsloch!_ What is wrong with you?"

"That is not a joke," Germany said angrily.

"It's a joke! _Stop hitting me!_"

Germany pointed to the dry bowl. "Have you added the pepper yet?"

"I was getting there," Prussia said. He looked at the camera. "For those of you that don't speak German, you're lame. Pfeffernusse means "pepper nuts." I skipped the nuts because they're a pain in the ass, but you can't do this recipe without pepper. My little _Bruder_ here prefers white pepper-"

"It's smoother and has more bite."

"But the BEST way is two teaspoons of black pepper. I KNOW, you Americans are all, 'Pepper in a cookie? What _is _this mockery?'"

Germany snorted and added the eggs to the stove mix. "That's a good America impression."

"Thanks," Prussia grinned. "But trust us. We know what we're doing. Right, West?"

"_I_ know what I'm doing," Germany said, turning off the stove and bringing the saucepan to the counter. "And I'm not going to let my brother's stupidity ruin your cookies."

"You're a dick," Prussia said. "So we've mixed all the dry ingredients evenly, and West made a perfect creamy Jager mix that we've let cool. Now we add them together!"

"_I'll_ pour," Germany said. "You always spill and it's not funny."

Prussia looked at Germany, appalled. "I would never, _never _waste such an awesome Jager cream!"

"Then stir carefully."

Germany poured the cream slowly over the powder mix and Prussia fought the spoon through the thick dough.

"_Verdammt,_" Prussia said through his teeth. "Pour faster, this _sucks_!"

"You train with me every afternoon," Germany said, annoyed. "This is nothing for you."

"It's _hard_!"

Germany tipped the last of the cream into the bowl. "Fine," he said. He looked at the camera. "Don't do this unless you wash your hands first."

Prussia's face split into a grin. "Really? Can we?"

"Why not. Just keep your hands off the furniture."

Prussia took the useless wooden spoon out and wiped it off with his fingers. He plunged his hands into the dough.

"If you don't mind getting sticky, this is still the best way to mix any dough! A hands-on approach is way more thorough than a whisk or even egg beaters!"

"You can mix to your perfect consistency," Germany said, adding his hands to the dough. "With a black pepper Pfeffernusse, you want thick, grainy dough, and yes it's going to get sticky."

"And everywhere," Prussia said. "West already has some on his face."

"Do I?" Germany said, surprised. "Where?"

"Right there," Prussia said, painting a sticky line down Germany's nose. "Kesesese!"

Germany scowled. "You're hilarious. And you have dough on your chin."

Prussia wiped his face with a doughy hand. "Did I get- oh, _Gottverdammt!_"

Germany smirked as Prussia wiped his chin on his shoulder.

"Touché, dickass," Prussia said. Germany smiled at the camera.

"Our cookie dough is the perfect consistency," Germany said. "So now we chill it for at least two hours."

"_What_?" Prussia cried. "Whyy?"

"Several reasons," Germany said patiently. "First, it's too sticky right now to mold into balls."

"Heh. You said balls."

"_Second,_" Germany said as he put the dough in the refrigerator, _"_even a little aging goes a long way. It might surprise you to learn that _mature _cookie dough yields sharper flavors and a better texture."

Prussia frowned. "Why would that surprise me?" he challenged.

"It's a surprising fact. I didn't mean anything by-"

"Are you saying I'm immature? Is that what you're saying?"

Germany sighed. "Gilbert, I wasn't-"

"The proper term is _timeless _West!" Prussia shouted. "I'm not _immature_- I was born awesome and have always been this mega-stupendous-incredible-sexy-awesome-hot! Infinite awesome can't get more awesome- I don't have to _mature_ because I'm already the pinnacle of creation!"

Germany struggled to keep his lips shut.

"You know what?" Prussia continued. "I'll bet this Pfeffernusse dough is just as awesome as I am! I'll bet we don't have to wait at all- it'll be just as good in two hours as it is now!"

"Gilbert, we should do this prop-"

Germany stopped talking as Prussia grabbed his hand and shoved Germany's finger in his mouth. Prussia sucked the dough off Germany's finger as the younger brother stared in horrified disbelief.

"Mm," Prussia smirked. "See? Awesome!"

"What di… why the… I ca…who do… _YOU'RE DISGUSTING_!"

"Relax," Prussia laughed. "You're acting like someone just randomly stuck your finger in their mouth."

"Wha…_you_…bu…"

"When _in fact_," Prussia said, "it was part of a very long and complex thought process, one too complicated for your little brother brain to comprehend."

"_What the HELL is wrong with you?_"

Prussia yelped and dodged Germany's fists.

"West, _dude_, calm down! I was just tasting the dough!"

"I SWEAR I will discipline you!"

"WEST! Let everyone go to commercial, you don't want them to see me kick your ass!"

"_Get your ass back here, you fu-_"

**OKAY! Commercial Break, everyone! Haha…ha…**

**Let's just skip to two hours later, shall we?**

Prussia pressed an ice pack to his black eye while Germany put fresh tissue in his bloody nose.

Prussia sniffed. "You've got a _killer _right hook, dude."

"You're dot so bad either," Germany smiled. "Dat uppercut cabe oudda _dowhere_."

Prussia grinned and punched his brother in the arm. "Are our manly cookies of manliness ready for baking?"

Germany punched Prussia harder and took the tissue from his nose. "It's stopped bleeding, we're good. Grab the dough and I'll wash up."

Prussia limped to the refrigerator and Germany limped to the sink.

"As you can see," Prussia said as he limped back to the counter, "West has neatly arranged two baking sheets and lined them with wax paper."

"And Gilbert's preheated the oven to 165 degrees, 325 Fahrenheit. That's good, because that's exactly the temperature we need."

"Not quite a joke, dude."

"Quiet, _Dummkopf_."

Prussia pinched off a section of the chilled dough. "Now we have to shape all this awesomeness into tight little balls of awesomeness."

"Make them about the size of an acorn," Germany said. "Put them no closer than an inch apart on the cookie sheets."

Prussia started shaping the dough. "Depending on how big your acorns are, you may need a third cookie sheet. That's cool, you're gonna want a million of these anyway."

"Don't forget to share with your friends."

"Yeah, except for violence, Prussian Kiss Pfeffernusse is the manliest way to bond!"

Germany held up his tray. "Well, look who finished first."

Prussia scowled. "Well, look who finished more!"

"Still me."

"Screw you."

"So now that we have everything all set up, we'll just throw these in the oven between 10 and 15 minutes."

"The object is to get soft, cakey balls," Prussia explained. "As they cool, they'll finish cooking and firm up, but you absolutely don't want to overcook them. Then you have weapons."

Germany slid the pans into the oven and clapped his hands. "Well, then. Battleship?"

"I'm already set up, don't know what's taking _you _so long."

**TWELVEISH MINUTES PASS!**

"LOOK AT THESE MONKEY FIGHTING PFEFFERNUSSE!" Prussia cried through a freshly split lip.

Germany smiled through a swollen eye. "When we took them out, they were spongy. We've let them cool a bit and they're already firm, but not hard."

Prussia caressed the bowl of cookies. "Soon, my sweets."

"The last step is to dust them in confectioner's sugar," Germany said. "Just-"

Prussia took the sugar from Germany and threw a cookie in. A cloud of sugar poofed like magic and Germany rolled his eyes.

"Or, you know, do that. Why not."

"Ready, West? Are you ready for awesome?"

Germany coated a cookie in sugar and tapped it against Prussia's. "Ready."

They popped their cookies in their mouths at the same time and chewed. Their eyes widened.

"Holy…"

"WEST! 'TIS THE GREATEST THING MINE LIPS HAVE EVER TOUCHED!"

"You feel that soft burn? The Jager is an awesome touch!"

Prussia threw cookies by the handful into the bag of powdered sugar. "Everyone must taste these, West! They must taste them and know the power of the Prussian Kiss!"

"Gay."

"Nay! For I kiss with a fist! _Kesesese!_"

Germany began to fill small plastic treat bags with Pfeffernusse. "What a shame Crocious couldn't wait until Christmas to make us make these. Christmas cookies in June seem almost cruel."

"Good thing these things will last past forever in the freezer. Not that they'll last that long, but still."

"Don't forget to leave a review for Crocious so she knows to keep going."

"You guys are awesome! Join us next time for another exciting episode of _Glutton for Punishment_ Oh, I see what she did there."

"_Gute Nacht!_"

**1/2 cup molasses  
1/4 cup honey  
1/4 cup shortening  
1/4 cup margarine  
4 teaspoons Jagermeister  
2 eggs**

_**Cook in a saucepan until creamy, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. DON'T ADD EGGS until it's nearly room temperature.**_

**4 cups all-purpose flour  
3/4 cup white sugar  
1/2 cup brown sugar  
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cardamom  
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg  
1 teaspoon ground cloves  
1 teaspoon ground ginger  
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon  
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda  
2 teaspoon ground black pepper  
1/2 teaspoon salt**

_**Mix it all evenly. Slowly mix in the wet stuff. Refrigerate awesome dough for at least 2 hours, or overnight if you're a fancy dude.  
Shape into a bunch of awesome balls and cook at 325 F for 10-15 minutes.**_

**(1 cup confectioners' sugar for dusting)**


	3. Spanish Breeze Sorbete and Sangria

**Hey! Who wants to fix Slutbot THIS time? Sorry I'm late, chicas -_-' I have to write this from le library, because Slutbot damaged her charging port. Don't worry about dirty jokes; I've already made them all. Who's ready to make Sorbete de Limon with Spain-Papi? Just in time for the heat wave, no? Fusososo!**

**Oh, dear. Roma's mouth. Should I censor with Italian, or up the rating? Darn it, Roma, you make everything so hard!**

Spain grinned happily at the camera.

"Let me know when we start filming, Romano!"

Romano sighed. "Okay."

Spain stared into space and Romano glared at him. Spain absently lifted a lemon to his nose.

"What are you _doing_?" Romano shouted.

"I'm waiting for the camera to start filming!"

"It's already filming, _bastardo_, I SAID 'okay'!"

"Oh!" Spain laughed. "My bad! _Hola a todos!_ Hi, everyone! I am Spain and this is _A Spoonful of Sugar_!"

Romano blew a green party blower as resentfully as he could. Spain frowned and nudged him.

"A little happier, Lovi, this is fun!"

Romano rolled his eyes and blew the whistle exactly as enthusiastically as before.

Spain smiled. "Better! Joining me today is the beautiful-"

"Hey."

"Talented-"

"Hey!"

"Adorable-"

"_Hey_! Quit teasing me, _bastardo_!"

"Aww," Spain cooed. "No one's teasing, _cariño_! You're my perfect tomato cutie!"

Romano turned a bright shade of red. "Just-! Just get back to the show!"

"Okay!" Spain laughed. "This is my little Romano! He's going to help us today! Say _hola_, Roma!"

"_Ciao_."

"No," Spain said. "_Hola. _Ho…La. You can do it!"

"I said _ciao_," Romano yelled, "and I meant _ciao!_ Sheesh, like he owns the world, this one!"

Spain sighed in distress and nuzzled a lemon. "Anyway… Today we're going to make a couple Spanish specialties that will help you beat the heat, right, Lovi?"

"First a really simple _Sorbete de Limon_," Romano said. "If you manage to screw up a lemon sorbet, you might want to ask your mother if she dropped you on your head as a child."

"Be nice. Later, we're going to make delicious Sangria, for the big kids in the audience!"

"Don't worry if you're not old enough," Romano said. "It tastes just as good with substitutions."

Spain clapped his hand over Romano's mouth "_Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh_! Watch what you say, you'll get me in trouble!"

"Oy!" Romano shouted. "It's not my problem if your _bastardi amici _get butthurt over nonalcoholic sangria! If you ask me, Prussia could use a little sober in his life! _Cazzo idiota_."

"We can edit that part out later, right, Cro?"

Romano hit Spain with a lemon. "Would you just pay attention, _please_?"

Spain grinned. "You're so cute when you cook, Lovi! Okay, let's start with the _sorbete_! This is a really popular Mediterranean dessert, and I think it's called sorbet in the states, is that right?"

"_Sorbete_ is a fruit flavored ice. The most popular to make is lemon, because why mess with a good thing?"

Spain gasped. "Lovi! Is that… is that a _compliment_? I LOVE YOU TOO!"

"QUIT TOUCHING ME! My place has better!"

Spain giggled and booped Romano's nose. "That's why I'm adding the mint- just for you, Lovi!"

Romano's eye twitched. "Get on with it! It's really hot out!"

"He's right!" Spain said. "Let's hurry!"

Spain displayed his counter. "_Aqui_! We have 1 ½ cup of sugar, 2 cups of water, 6 mint leaves and a whole bunch of lemons! More than I can even count, haha!"

"You can't count more than three," Romano snapped. "You'll need between 12 and 14 lemons for the _sorbete,_ depending on how good you are at juicing."

"_Ah_!" Spain sighed. "That is so many! You're losing the Americans!"

"_Fine_. The object is to get two cups of juice. Fresh squeezed is a million times better, but if you're some lazy American who can't put in the work to juice 14 lemons, you deserve your sub-par _sorbete._"

Spain _winked_. "Compromise is the spice of life. Lovi, are you on lemon duty, or syrup?"

Romano glared. "Like I care. I'll do lemons."

Spain nodded. "Okay, first follow me! We need a medium saucepan in order to cook a yummy mint syrup! Put in your water and sugar, and let it dissolve into a sugar-water before you even turn on the heat!"

Romano rolled a lemon on the counter. "Meanwhile, have your friend start in on the lemons. Rolling them makes them easier to juice. You can also put one in the microwave for 15 seconds."

"Everything is nice and dissolved," Spain smiled. "So, now we can put in our six mint leaves and boil! Stir every now and then, and keep your syrup boiling for about ten minutes!"

"Right. Now- HEY!" Romano yelled accusingly. "This is a _way_ simpler recipe than you made it sound! I don't need to be here!"

Spain kissed Romano on the cheek. "What's my _cocina_ without my favorite _cocino_?"

"Stop talking Spanish at me, _idiota_!"

Spain laughed and tossed a lemon between his hands. "When you've loosened up your juices, go ahead and slice the lemons- _very carefully_- in half. One at a time!"

Romano held out a thin knife. "Spain is going to zest one lemon before we juice it to add a little more _gusto_. I'll start juicing."

Romano deftly sliced the lemon in half and shoved a wooden juicer in the flesh over a bowl. The lemon juice gushed.

"If you're not careful," Romano said, turning the juicer with quick, hard stabs, "you'll get more juice on your arms than in the bowl. Don't worry about seeds, you can always strain them out. And pulp only adds dimension to your dish."

"And if they don't have a lemon juicer, Romano?"

Romano scowled. "Then they don't deserve this kind of perfection. But it's very easy to juice with a fork."

Spain nodded happily. "Now, zesting is nothing more than grating the lemon rind! Some people have a lemon zester tool for just that purpose. The more practical among us just use a clean cheese grater. It depends on what kind of texture you like!"

Spain drew a lemon across the cheese grater several times. "This, as you can see, is very fine shreds, which is perfect for a _sorbete_! Make sure you only zest the yellow outer rind. Stop when you see white!"

"He's going to put the zest into the big serving bowl," Romano explained. "After I've juiced all the lemons and strained out the seeds, I'll add the lemon juice. Will you stop fooling around with that lemon and help me juice?"

Spain quit using the lemon as a pick on his cheese grater guitar. "Actually, you finish, Lovi. I need to check the syrup!"

Romano groaned and twisted the juicer violently.

Spain danced to the stove. "_Que maravilla!_ The syrup is not too thick, but perfect! We'll take it from the stove to let it cool for 15 minutes- no more!"

"And you can help me with the lemons!" Romano said, faking enthusiasm.

"Actually, I should get the Sangria-"

"Help with the lemons!" Romano yelled.

Spain pouted and sliced a lemon. "There's no need to yell at your _Papi_."

"You're not a _Papi_, idiot. Juice."

When they had a little more than two cups of juice, Romano held a strainer over the serving bowl. Spain poured the juice onto the zested peel.

"While the pulp is _muy delicioso_," Spain said, "seeds and stuff make a _sorbete _almost unpleasant, if that could be possible! A little strain goes a long way, no? Hahaha!"

Romano rolled his eyes and mixed the zest and juice evenly. "How's the syrup looking?"

"Oh!" Spain ran to the saucepan. "Perfect! It's only a little thick!"

Romano nodded. "If it hardens, you failed at cooling. But you can heat it up a little to make it liquid again."

Spain plucked the mint leaves out of the syrup. "Smell this, Romano! Don't you feel cooler already?"

"Just add it, _bastardo_."

Spain laughed and poured the mint syrup into the serving bowl. "After we mix it all evenly, we can add just a splash of white wine-"

"_NO_," Romano shouted. "We are not putting alcohol in perfect _sorbete_! Most of these kids are underage and you're already making Sangria!"

"But _Loviii_," Spain whined. "It serves a practical purpose! It keeps the _sorbete _from freezing too hard! And is delicious!"

"No wine in the _sorbete_. You can have your Sangria."

Spain pouted. "Fine. We'll make it _normal_."

Romano finished mixing. "We're going to cover this very tightly with Saran Wrap and put it in the freezer for about an two hours to start. We'll get to the last step after it's nearly frozen."

"Now Sangria!" Spain cheered. "This is the most Spanish way too cool down on hot summer days like this one! And it's courage in a carafe if you want to run with the bulls this year!"

"_Do not,_" Romano said through gritted teeth, "drink before you do anything dangerous. Alcohol impairs judgment and nearly killed_ this_ idiot four years ago in Pamplona."

"It was so much fun!" Spain giggled. "You didn't have to scare the bull off, Lovi, I had it handled!"

"Like _hell_ you did! He almost trampled you!"

"It was all part of my master plan!"

"Oh," Romano moaned. "My head. You are too stupid for my head to handle right now. Just shut up."

Spain brandished the wine bottle. "Incidentally, _this_ fixes that, too!"

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does! Let's start with your alcohols, _si_? You want a bottle of dry red wine and a half cup of brandy. Use your favorite!"

"Don't cheap out too much on the wine," Romano said. "While authentic Spanish Sangria is made with the cheapest, most plentiful alcohol so you can get drunk quickly and cheaply-"

"Hey! I resemble that remark!"

"_- you are better than that_. Spring for some mid-shelf red. Nothing in a box!"

Spain poured the alcohol into a large pitcher. "Now add ¼ cup of lemon juice, 1/3 cup of frozen lemonade concentrate-"

"_What_?"

Spain grinned. "Oh, Mister Judgy pants! It adds a great zing! Also, 1/3 cup of orange juice! Fresh is best, but go ahead and use store bought orange juice. Like Romano said- the cheaper the better!"

"That is the opposite of what I said!"

"Now add fruit!" Spain grinned. "A few round slices of lemon, a few round slices of orange, a few round slices of lime- and between 6 and 8 halved strawberries! Mix it all together, nice and cool, and put it in your refrigerator!"

"The fruit needs a little time to soak into the Sangria," Romano explained. "Overnight is best, but it's pretty difficult to screw up this drink."

Spain yawned. "How much longer on the last step of the _sorbete_?"

Romano stifled a yawn with his fist. "Don't do that, _bastardo_, yawning's contagious! We have around an hour and a half for the last step."

"It's past _siesta_," Spain whined. "I'm tired! I don't want to wait!"

"Grow up," Romano yawned. "We can make lemon cups."

Spain brightened. "Oh yeah! Great idea, Lovi!"

Romano took two lemon halves that remained relatively intact from the juicing. "This is a little novelty your guests will enjoy on a hot day. Take a cleaned out lemon half and trim the bottom so it stands up straight on a plate."

Spain cut the ends happily and stood them up.

"Good," Romano said. "Now put them in the freezer."

Spain did.

Romano and Spain looked at each other for a second.

"AUGH!" Romano cried. "That didn't take an hour and a half!"

"I'm so sleepy! I can't just wait around! This sexy face needs his beauty sleep!"

Romano rolled his eyes. "As if that even works."

Spain pulled Romano to his chest. "_Hush, mi tomate_! You are just saying these things because you're cranky and need your _siesta_!"

"FINE," Romano said. "We'll set the timer and take _siesta_. It's too hot out to argue."

**1 ½ HOURS OF GROWN MEN NAPPING LATER**

Spain yawned cheerfully at Romano. "There! You feel better now? _Siesta_ cures what ails you!"

Romano grumbled something unintelligible and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Spain squealed.

"RO-_MAAAAA_! You're so CUTE!"

"SHUT UP, _CAZZO BASTARDO!_ Why do you have to be so damn _loud_?"

Spain ignored Romano and nuzzled his cheek. "_Te quiero, precioso! Te amo!_"

"Get OFF me!" Romano shouted, but Spain only laughed and hugged him tighter.

Romano grabbed a slice of lemon and slapped it into Spain's face. Spain cried out.

"My eyes!"

"Don't touch me right after I wake up! You know this! Now can we finish the _sorbete,_ or would you like to continue howling in pain?"

"Just a minute more of howling, please."

"Fine," Romano sighed. "Now 55 seconds."

Spain clutched his face and cried out. "_Mi lindo!_ Why would you do this to me! It burns! Oh, the betrayal! Why, Roma, _why_? AUGH!"

"And, time," Romano said blandly. Spain stood up cheerfully.

"Okay!" he said. "_Sorbete_! For the very last step, you will take out your nearly frozen _sorbete, _as Romano has done so beautifully! Slowly add a can of sweetened condensed milk! The can should be about 9 ounces, right, Lovi?"

"Mix it thoroughly with a wisk," Romano said. "Make sure it's smooth and put it back into the freezer to harden entirely. And then wait."

"And drink!" Spain cheered.

Romano groaned. "Do we have to?"

"_Si_!" Spain grinned. "Right before you serve your delicious Sangria, don't forget to add two cups of ginger ale to the pitcher! This will make it bubbly and sweet and delicious, right, Lovi?"

Romano filled two wine glasses with ice and garnished them with strawberry halves. Spain poured the Sangria.

"A toast!" Spain cried. "To summer!"

"To beating the heat into submission," Romano added. They drained their glasses and smacked their lips.

"More?" Spain asked cheerfully,

"Why not?"

They refilled and lifted to toast again.

"To the bulls!"

"To _siesta_."

Drain. Smack. Refill.

"To being with your favorite people in the world!"

"To chilling on your own."

Drain. Refill.

Romano hiccupped. "To this clever _bastardo_ and his magic juice!"

"To Roma never finding out I added more alcohol to the Sangria while he was sleeping!"

"_WHAT_?"

Spain laughed. "_Gracias, mis amigos!_ Thank you for joining us on _A Spoonful of Sugar!_"

"How much more did you put in, _idiota?_"

"Join us next time, and don't forget to comment for Cro! The best stories are made together!"

"Seriously, _how much more_? Answer me!"

"Much love and summer kisses! Goodnight!"

**Spanish Breeze Sorbete**

1 1/2 cups granulated sugar

2 cups water

6 mint leaves

_-Cook down into syrup by dissolving sugar in water and boiling together for 10 minutes. Cool. Remove mint.-_

2 cups lemon juice

Zest of one lemon

_-Add cooled syrup. Mix evenly. Freeze until almost frozen.-_

9 oz can sweetened condensed milk

_-Add to almost frozen _sorbete._ Freeze entirely. Serves 6.-_

**Courage in a Carafe Strawberry Sangria**

1/2 cup brandy

1 bottle dry red wine

(1/2 cup triple sec- For _Papi_'s recipe)

1/4 cup lemon juice

1/3 cup frozen lemonade concentrate

1/3 cup orange juice

_-Mix! Mix for all you're worth!-_

1 lemon, sliced into rounds

1 orange, sliced into rounds

1 lime, sliced into rounds

6-8 strawberries, halved

_-Add your fruit like the master you are! Now let it sit in your fridge! Call it names! Make it angry!-_

2 cups ginger ale

_-Add right before serving for a fizzy, sweet Sangria! Ask for forgiveness and drink!-_


	4. WHAT DID YOU DO?

**Damn it, guys, who told Iggy about the cooking show?**

"Don't you bloody ignore me! Why haven't I been asked to host yet?"

**Lots of reasons. Like, I don't want to kill people.**

"Ha, bloody ha. You know for a fact that everyone exaggerates the few faults of British food!"

**Like how you boil the flavor out of everything, and then soak it in vinegar?**

"I do not!"

**Or how you burn everything that DOES have taste?**

"It's _crispy_!"

**Or how your pudding is, like, not even pudding, but some sort of congealed bread monster?**

"You're doing this stupid cooking show to expand everyone's mind and give them a taste, if you will, of foreign cultures, and yet you actively ignore the sole surviving country that has touched every single corner of this world."

**Yes. What's your question?**

"Un-bloody-believable."

**Look, Iggs, it's not my fault. The decency standards on won't allow me to show British cuisine. **

**"**Romano swore like a bleeding sailor in the last episode! You can't tell me I can't cook spotted **** for everyone!"

**No, see, you got bleeped.**

"What the… Spotted ****! It's a red currant pudding!"

**Nope, censored. Also, you can't really call that a pudding.**

"How about K*********r G***y? Damn it, why was _that_ bleeped?"

**Sounds waaaaay dirty, dude. I'm trying to keep it family friendly here.**

"S****s! Oh, _come on,_ that's not even remotely sexual!"

**We do NOT mention the Devil's Cookies! Not in this house! For SHAME, Iggy!**

**"**S****s! The British staple dessert! Scrumptious little biscuits that taste perfect with jam and t*a, OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!"

**Iggs, I'm not going to tell you again. No. I will not cook British food, and I definitely won't enable anyone's self-destructive tendencies by giving them a fucking recipe.**

"There! Right there! You just swore! And it didn't bleep!"

**And what does it say about your food that I can say "fuck," but not "s****?"**

"You know what? S**** you, Crocious. S**** you right in the mouth."

**You… MONSTER! Everyone, THIS, THIS right here! THIS is why we don't tell Iggy what we're doing! Ever! Got it? He ruins things and is really cranky around Independence Day and I don't want to hear him kvetch!**

"Independence Day… more like "Let's Celebrate Our Bloody Ungrateful Little Brothers" Day."

**Iggy! Go take a nap! You're bumming me out!**

**Seriously, guys. When I say don't tell England, I mean _don't s***ing tell England!_**


End file.
